


Complimentary

by Mithen



Category: DCU Animated
Genre: Fever, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-08
Updated: 2007-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Superman and Batman are stranded on a planet with a red sun and Batman must care for an injured and poisoned Superman.<b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Complimentary

"Isn't there any other inhabitable planet in the area, Bruce?"

Bruce stabbed at the star chart.  "This is the only one we can safely make it to before running out of oxygen.  With all our communications out and propulsion system shot, we can't count on a passing ship finding us, either.  We have to take a chance on the nearest planet, and this is it.  The World's Finest, taken out by a random meteor shower."  He folded his arms and glared grimly at the chart, with the glowing red ember of a star at the heart of the system they were making their way toward.  "I don't like it any more than you do, Kal."

"I sincerely doubt that," his companion grumbled.

Batman tapped the map thoughtfully.  "The atmosphere appears to be breathable and the climate survivable, and we're lucky for that.  Let's just hope the Javelin can handle the stress of atmospheric re-entry in this condition.  Then we just need to wait in the ship for someone to track us down.  No problem."  His voice was flat, pragmatic.  He began to check the instruments again, calibrating and adjusting.

Superman glowered at the star chart.  The red sun glared balefully back, like an unblinking crimson eye.  Batman would never believe him, but sometimes Superman envied the human.  Bruce's formidable powers of the mind and body could never be stripped from him by some random red light or a chunk of green crystal.  The Dark Knight was powered by his own unquenchable will, not a fluke of solar energy.

As the Javelin eased into the atmosphere of the planet, there was a thumping jolt, then a scream of overstressed metal.  Batman's hands were steady on the controls, but the ship began to buck and shudder around them.

Batman looked down at a readout.  His voice was level as he spoke over the rising cacophony.  "Kal, I think you're going to have to get us out of this.  She's not going to make it."  He flipped a toggle quickly, then went back to trying to hold the juddering controls steady.  "I'll try to get us as far into the atmosphere as possible before she starts to break up."

Superman nodded, knowing Batman wouldn't see him nod but also knowing words weren't necessary.  He'd do what he had to do.  As the ship began to disintegrate around them, he snapped the restraints holding Batman into his seat, wrapped his cape around the man to shield him from flying debris, and flew clear of the falling ship.

The light of the red sun on him was greedy, covetous.  He could feel it sapping his strength and abilities almost immediately as he dodged the fireball of the Javelin, shrapnel screaming by him.  One chunk hit him in the small of the back and knocked him off-balance, sending them tumbling wildly through the air, downward together.  Kal struggled to regain his equilibrium and almost succeeded before hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thump, cushioning Bruce from the impact as much as he could. Kal staggered to his feet, feeling the pain of the impact in his muscles and sinews.  Red light in the marrow of his bones, eating away at him.

Batman shook off the red cape, stood up, and looked around.  About them stretched a massive jungle, no sign of habitation.  In the air above, trails of smoke and steam feathered down.  "So much for staying in the ship," Batman noted grimly.

Superman nodded, surveying the landscape.  They were in a small clearing surrounded by huge trees that looked rather like sequoias, stretching upward into the amethyst sky.

"Can you do a surveying flight, get a feel for the lay of the land?"  Batman asked.

"I can't go far.  I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stay airborne here and I don't want to risk our getting separated.  But let me see if I can at least find us a river we can follow."  Superman lifted off.  The planet's gravity was very slightly stronger than Earth's;  it tugged at him, pulling him down.  The crimson light nibbled at his strength.  He took a moment, hovering in the air away from his companion, to take deep breaths, feeling panic rising up in him.  He probably only had a few hours in this light before his powers were gone and he was--useless.  Just some guy Batman would have to watch out for, an obstacle and a hindrance, slowing him down.

Deep breaths, Clark.  He sucked in hot, humid air and scanned the landscape below him.  Then he lowered himself back to the reddish soil beneath them, landing with a rather graceless thump and a wince.  "The nearest river is a few hours' walk to the west, going by the position of the sun.  The planetary information seems to be correct about inhabitants--I didn't see any sign of civilization, at least."

Batman nodded thoughtfully.  "First priority has to be finding water and shelter.  We need to find someplace to wait until a rescue party gets close enough to pick up on our communicators.  And it would be best to find someplace before nightfall--and before your powers run out."  He looked appraisingly at Superman, most likely evaluating how long it was before Clark became so much baggage, and Clark gritted his teeth.  "Let's start toward the river."

"I could fly us--"

Batman shook his head.  "That would save us some time but at the cost of burning off some of your energy that could be better used in other ways.  And we need to start evaluating the terrain and possible wildlife."  He turned west and started picking his way through the lush forest, Superman following cautiously after.

They made their way in silence through the jungle, the only sounds the eerie warbles of alien life.  Once there was a strange trilling roar nearby, and both men froze, but whatever it was made no other appearance.  The jungle was a riot of colors:  vines dripping with chartreuse trumpet-shaped flowers, rock formations of violet-streaked turquoise, ferns with fronds dappled gold and pink.  All bathed in the febrile light of the red sun above them, malevolent as a witch's curse, beating down on his head.

A huge fallen tree blocked their way.  Batman looked at Superman.  "Can you move it?"

"I can try."  He heaved the log aside, but it took effort.  He stood for a second, his breath coming faster than he wanted it to.

"Do you need a rest?"  Batman's voice was scrupulously neutral.

"No," Clark snapped, sounding petulant even to himself.  "I'm fine."

Batman drew close and studied Clark's face for a moment, then suddenly reached out and touched his fingers to Clark's brow.  They came away wet.  "If you're sweating, your powers are almost gone, Kal," Bruce pointed out.  "Don't be stoic and overdo it, that'll only get both of us in trouble."

Clark glared at him.  He had a stitch in his side now.  "It's just hot, all right?"

Batman looked at the beads of sweat making their way down Kal's face for a second, then reached up and pulled off his cowl, revealing his own sweat-damp curls.  He wiped his brow with an edge of his cape, then suddenly smiled at Superman.  "It is at that," he agreed.  Then he started off through the jungle again, leaving Kal to trail behind, still rather stunned by the rare and inexplicable smile.

The rushing sound of water started to fill the air, which steadily grew even damper and more clinging.  Soon the two of them emerged on a cliff overlooking a gorge filled with rushing water, clear as glass except where it broke into churning foam below smooth rocks.  They made their way along the ledge, looking for a way down. 

"I think I see a cave right over there."  Bruce let go of a low-hanging branch to point and it snapped back to catch Clark in the face, twigs raking his cheeks.  "Ow!" Clark sputtered.  

Bruce turned to look at the reddened marks along Clark's face, his lips thinning.  "I take it that means we can't count on you to sterilize our drinking water?"

The dismissive tone stung more than the scratches along his face.  "I'd say that's a pretty accurate analysis, Bruce.  You can't count on me anymore."

Bruce's eyebrows drew down sharply and he opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the quavering roar they had heard earlier sounded again, much closer this time.  Both of them dropped to a combat stance just as the underbrush erupted into an explosion of rainbow color which resolved itself into some kind of serpent with a multitude of feathered wings and a mouthful of diamond-glittering fangs.

The tail knocked Clark flying as the serpent arrowed in on Batman, jaws snapping at his face.  The lithe scaled body wrapped around the black-armored form and squeezed;  Clark could hear the breath rush from Bruce's lungs as the coils constricted, lifting him off the ground.  "Hey!" he yelled in a panic at the snake, scrambling to his feet and scrabbling for a rock to throw at their attacker.  Without super-strength it fell woefully short and he grabbed another, managing to bounce it weakly off the gleaming rainbow body this time.  The head swivelled toward him and the serpent hissed angrily, baring what looked like thousands of teeth.  Clark heaved another rock and somehow caught the thing right between its fuchsia eyes.  "That's right, come and get me, you son of a bitch!"

It moved a lot faster than Clark expected.  He managed to get his hands up to ward its fangs away from his throat and felt the hot needles sinking into them, the tail wrapping around his chest and squeezing.  He felt ribs crack, the burning in his hands spreading, his vision going as hazy and crimson as the horrible sunlight everywhere, in his blood and bones and heart...

Dimly he realized the serpent's coils were loosening and glimpsed the decel line wrapped around its neck as the ground started to move toward him.

He never even felt the impact.

: : :

Bruce kicked the feathery body aside to kneel next to Clark.  The Kryptonian was pale and only the whites of his eyes were showing.  Cursing to himself, Bruce grasped Clark's hands, noting the puncture wounds in them.  Stupid, stupid Clark.  The gauntlets would have protected my hands, you moron...  Bruce slipped a small knife from his belt and carefully made an x-shaped incision over the livid wounds on the heel of Clark's thumb.  Red blood welled up from the cuts.  Stupid, stupid...  Bruce put his lips to Clark's palm, sucked blood, spat it to the side.  Stupid, noble, stupid, self-sacrificing brave idiot...  His mouth went numb almost immediately;  the poison was virulent.  He put his mouth to Clark's hand again, drew blood and poison into his mouth.  He couldn't tell how much of it he'd gotten out;  Clark was still white and shaking. 

He tried to lift the Kryptonian and discovered he'd probably cracked some ribs in the struggle;  pain lanced through his chest and he grunted.  "Kal, stand up," he said.  The other man shivered more and curled up into a ball, his breathing shallow.  Bruce put all of the Bat he could into his voice, making it crack like a whip.  "Get up, Clark." 

Half-conscious at best, injured, racked with poison and bereft of powers, Clark Kent flinched and staggered to his feet at the command, swaying.  Bruce supported him and the two of them made their way slowly to the cave mouth.

Inside the cave it was dark until Bruce's eyes adjusted and he realized there was a faint reddish glow from the walls.  He pulled off his cape and arranged it on the floor, then realized Clark was still standing,struggling to stay upright despite his injuries.  Because Bruce had told him to.  "Clark, you can lie down." 

Clark dropped, a puppet with its strings cut, onto the black cape.  Bruce bandaged the cut hand, holding it still to wrap gauze around it.  The sight of Superman's skin broken and bleeding made him feel nauseated, somehow.  Seeing Superman injured always did:  it seemed in some strange way to violate the known laws of the universe.  But always in the past there had been medical attention available when Kal got hurt.  Superman would get whisked to the medlab and there, safely out of Batman's sight, someone would nurse him to health.  Bruce always did his best not to visit the medlab while Kal was in it.  No one wanted the Bat's bedside manner around while they healed, after all.

But now, here, there was no one to take care of Superman but him.  He realized he'd been holding and staring at Kal's bandaged hand for much longer than necessary, and jumped up to collect some water.  He slipped from the cave, murmuring, "I'll be right back," in case Kal could hear him.

When he came back with a few pouches of water, precious water purification tablets dissolving into them, Kal was curled up toward the cave wall, shivering.  At the sound of Batman's footsteps Kal tossed onto his back, revealing the pallor of his drawn face, his sweat-soaked hair.  Batman removed one of his gauntlets to put his hand to Kal's forehead.  It was burning with fever, so hot that Bruce felt alarm rise up in him.  Kal murmured something incoherent and moved his head restlessly as if to try and maximize the area touched by Bruce's cooler hand.  Bruce brushed the sweat from Kal's forehead, then moved back a few feet to crouch on his haunches and consider the situation, staring absent-mindedly at Kal's pale face in the ruddy light from the cave walls.

Superman was badly poisoned, wounded, and running a high fever.  Batman himself had probably several broken ribs. There was no way they could move now.  Probably the Justice League would be able to track them down in a day or two, but until then, or until Clark was able to move, he was going to have make do here.

He desperately hoped that winged serpent didn't have a mate nearby.

In the meantime, he had to make sure Kal got some water into him.  With the heat and the fever he was sure to be dehydrated soon.  He had to be careful with their water because he only had a few purification tablets, but even a little bit would probably help Kal.  Bruce dipped his fingers into the tiny container of precious water and touched them to Kal's already-parched lips.  Kal made a small noise and licked the moisture off his lips.  Bruce repeated the process, careful not to waste any water. 

The third time, as he touched his dripping fingers to Kal's mouth, Kal's tongue darted out to meet the touch, brushing Bruce's fingers with soft, damp heat.

Bruce jerked his hand back as though he'd touched a white-hot poker, then stopped and almost laughed at himself.  Seeing Superman hurt had him badly rattled, apparently.  There was no other way to explain his reaction to that fleeting touch, that quick impression of moist warmth on his fingertips.

He looked at Kal's mouth and decided that probably was enough water for now.  He wouldn't want to waste it all.

Batman curled up on the floor near Superman and resolved to get some sleep. 

His fingertips tingled.

: : :

Batman awoke to the sound of Superman thrashing around, struggling to move, falling over.  "Kal," he said, trying to keep his voice level, "It's all right.  Relax."  The other man didn't seem to hear him at all.  Worried Clark would hurt himself more trying to move in his fever, Batman reached over and held his shoulders down.  Kal struggled against him for a moment but was unable to break Bruce's grip without his powers.  He went limp with a horrible groan. 

Bruce felt his forehead again.  If anything, he was hotter than before.  Kal's lips were dry, the lower one cracked and bloody as a result of their brief struggle.  Bruce cursed himself for being so worried about conserving water earlier and picked up one of the small containers.  As he moved it to Kal's lips he noticed it was trembling in his hands, and he took a moment to steady it better.  It would do no good if he spilled it.  He tilted it to Kal's mouth and let the water trickle past his lips, relieved when Kal swallowed noisily. 

The last swallow turned into a rattling cough, and Kal spoke for the first time since the serpent had attacked.  "Stupid," he said hoarsely, and Bruce thought for a moment he meant how Bruce had handled the water.  "Stupid," Superman repeated, "Useless, stupid."  He opened his eyes and looked at Bruce and through him, and Bruce realized he wasn't talking to him at all.  He was delirious with fever now.  "I know, I know," moaned Clark in response to something Bruce couldn't hear.  "Stupid."  A pained breath.  "So sorry."

With a horrible lurch Bruce realized Clark was talking about himself.  "What?" He sputtered without thinking, not even sure if the other man could hear him.  "What are you talking about?  You're not stupid."

"...stupid," Clark echoed him with finality, staring at him with fever-bright eyes.

"No, no, you're not stupid, you idiot.  And you're not useless."

Clark sighed and closed his eyes again.  "I know.  Idiot.  Big...useless idiot."  His breath was far too shallow and fast.

Bruce felt a sudden urge to tear his hair.  He grabbed Clark's hand, ignoring the other man's flinch, and checked the pulse.  Far too fast.  Keeping his fingers on the thready beat in Clark's wrist, he tried to calm the man down.  "You're not--"  Damn.  Be positive.  "You're...useful, Kal.  Very...useful."  This seemed a very weak reassurance at best, but it appeared to calm Clark down a little.  "You...lift things very well.  And the flying is extremely impressive."  Trapped in a cave and forced to compliment Superman;  surely any other member of the League would have been more fit for this job.  Superman was frowning again and tossing his head.  "You're very strong and have an extraordinary range of powers.  You're like the Swiss Army knife of the League." 

Batman felt a glow of pride in that last compliment--he thought it was rather inspired.  Then he realized that Superman was trying to pull his wrist away and his pulse rate was up again, racing against Bruce's fingers.  In a frozen moment of horror, Bruce saw tears slipping from Kal's closed eyes, tracking down his grimy cheeks.  He fought a wild impulse to drop Kal's wrist and bolt from the cave to safety.  Find a strategy, he told himself sternly.  Find the right words to calm Kal down.  For some reason, complimenting his powers clearly wasn't the correct course of action.  No reason to panic, he told himself, just find a different approach.  Simple.

"You're...very good.  A good person, Kal.  Very brave and kind and big-hearted.  You seem to--to love everybody.  Somehow."  Superman's pulse still hammered against Bruce's skin, although his breathing calmed slightly.  This line of compliment, however, was making Bruce very uncomfortable.  He wasn't sure he wanted to be dwelling on Kal's personality for some reason.  He decided to switch to more superficial qualities and hope they'd do the trick.  "You're extremely handsome, in addition.  Nice hair.  Very black.  Your eyes are good too.  They're...blue."  If he hadn't been holding on to Kal's wrist, Bruce might have buried his face in his hands.  Why couldn't he do this convincingly?  This wasn't any different from handing empty compliments to Vicki Vale, after all, and it was easy to natter that her eyes were the color of a lapis dawn shot through with golden light.  "Bright...blue." 

This was hopeless.  Entirely hopeless.  Even more annoying, these pathetic compliments were the ones that seemed to be calming Kal down;  his face was stiller now and his heartbeat less erratic.  Batman mustered all his strength for another effort.  "You have excellent bone structure."  Great, Bruce.  Make him sound like a stud stallion.  "Nicely balanced ears.  I know that seems minor, Clark, but lopsided ears can ruin the whole symmetry of a face."  He studied Clark's face, looking for something else to praise.  It was really the whole overall effect, he thought distractedly.  It was surprisingly hard to focus on just one isolated thing.  "Strong chin.  Good mouth." 

He remembered, with a sudden jolt, how Kal's lips had felt under his fingers, soft and hot.  And his tongue...

Well, there was no need to go on about Clark's mouth at length, really.  What else to compliment?  "Red and blue suits you.  Good choice of color scheme."  He almost threw his hands up in despair then, which reminded him that he was still holding Kal's wrist between his fingers. 

He looked at the hand closely, its palm up and fingers curled slightly inward.  "Nice hands.  Very broad, very strong.  Very...well, very filthy right now, actually."  There was dirt and blood under Kal's fingernails;  for some reason this made Bruce feel very ill at ease.  He ran a finger along one of the creases in the palm, along the map of Clark's life there in his hand.  The Kryptonian made a noise that...didn't sound unhappy, which was good.  Moved by a mad impulse--kiss it better--Bruce raised Clark's hand to his mouth and touched the bandage at the heel of his thumb with his lips.  Then it was only a few centimeters to the bare skin of Clark's palm, damp with fever, warm, real beneath his mouth.  Clark's fingers twitched restlessly again and grazed against the side of Bruce's face, feather-light.  Bruce heard someone make a small sound, full of yearning.

He was distantly surprised to realize it was him.

He turned the hand he was holding over gently.  "Good knuckles," he said, his voice sounding odd to his ears as it echoed off the cave walls.  "Good...spaces between the knuckles."  He touched his mouth to the large knuckles, his tongue to the vulnerable gaps between them.  He tasted salty sweat and something else that was just Kal, just the taste of Kal's skin.  "You even taste good.  You taste like joy."  His voice was shaking, almost certainly with mortification at having said such a lunatic thing out loud.  He ran his mouth down the back of Clark's hand, feeling dark hairs brush his lips.  He shifted his grip so could touch Clark's wrist with his mouth, feeling the sinews and tendons under the smooth skin, tasting Clark's pulse, the rushing, precious beat beneath his lips.  He held it there, counting the beats like stars.  Clark's pulse was stabilized and steady now.

Bruce's, on the other hand, seemed to be running rather amuck for no very good reason.  He curled up near Superman and tried to calm his treacherous body, the blood pounding riotously through him.  When he tried to release Clark's hand the Kryptonian stirred and muttered, his handsome face creased in a frown until Bruce caught his hand up again.  So it seemed easier just to lie there, holding on to Clark's hand. 

Eventually he drifted into a restless sleep in which he kept dreaming that Kal was slipping away from him.  He couldn't seem to rest well until he moved Clark's hand to cup his face, the heel of Clark's palm brushing against his mouth.  There, he thought in sleepy satisfaction.  Clark couldn't go anywhere now.

He slept.

: : :

Bruce woke up to lapis eyes shot through with golden light looking at him, blinking and bemused, looking at him with his face still nuzzled to the palm of Superman's hand.  He scrambled to his feet.  "You had a fever.  I was monitoring your pulse," he said brusquely. 

Clark wet cracked lips with his tongue and tried to speak, but nothing came out.  The fever seemed to have broken, but he was still pale as death, his face drawn into lines of exhaustion and pain.  Bruce knelt by him and gave him a little more water.  "I...had an awful dream," Clark said in a weak whisper.  "The JLA was a tribunal...put me on trial."

Bruce scoffed.  "Put Superman on trial?  Highly unlikely."

A faint breath of laughter.  "Superman was on the tribunal.  I was just...me.  Batman was there too, they all were, judging me.  But there was..."

Bruce waited for Clark to finish the sentence, but after a while it was clear the Kryptonian had drifted back into sleep. 

Bruce felt a terrible restlessness grip him like fury at the idea of Clark dreaming of Batman finding him wanting.  He was fairly sure a nightmare vision of him would not have said kind things to Clark. 

After all, the waking version of him so rarely did.

And what had Bruce come up with to counter that fevered recrimination?  "Useful.  Black hair.  Good knuckles."  Good knuckles! 

He found himself on his feet, pacing.  He had to find something to keep busy, something practical and functional to do with his energy beyond paying lame compliments to ailing Kryptonians.  A barricade for the cave mouth, in case there were predators;  that they could use.  

He set to work with fevered intensity, gathering fallen branches and vines to fashion into something like a door.  He had them lashed together and was trying to fasten the makeshift door to the sides of the cave properly when a hand reached past him to stabilize his work.  He whirled to find Superman standing, weaving and sweating, pushing feebly on the door.  "I can help," he said faintly.

"Help?  You can hardly stand up!  Lie back down, please, Kal," Bruce said, annoyed at the imploring tone in his voice.  It was very--disconcerting--to have Kal look so pale and upset.

"Let me help, please, Bruce."  There was a light to Clark's eyes that Bruce didn't like much at all;  he wondered if the fever was truly gone yet.  "I have to...have to help."  He made another grab at the door and almost tumbled over.

Irritation boiled over in Bruce;  he grabbed Clark's shoulders and pushed him roughly back toward the black cape on the floor.  "Kal, you damn fool idiot."  Blue eyes clouded with pain winced away from his and Bruce cursed to himself but couldn't seem to stop the tumbling flow of annoyed words.  "Why do you always have to be so damn useful, it's like you think no one will like you if you're not busy saving everything.  Which is ridiculous and...and stupid.  People don't like you because of your damn utility, they like you because you're kind and good and noble and have a sly sense of humor you try to keep hidden and you're brave and...and interesting." 

Clark's knees gave out again and he went down in a heap, Bruce catching his weight and lowering him back onto the cape.  Clark was staring at him, and now of course Bruce couldn't seem to stop talking.  "Just when are you going to get it through your dense Kryptonian head that everybody loves you, you moron?  For the life of me, I can't figure out how you can be so damn humble;  I can only chalk it up to superhuman stupidity, because everybody loves you, Clark.  Everybody loves you.  Everybody.  Loves you."

He seemed to have run out of words again except that last phrase and alarming variations on it, so he stopped talking in order to spare Clark the repetition.  He looked away.

After a while Clark took a breath.  "I told you...about my dream, last night.  That the JLA put me on trial.  All of them.  Batman and Superman and everyone.  Telling me I was...not a good person."

Bruce nodded wordlessly, not looking at Clark.  That Clark's subconscious would cast Batman as an accuser...displeased Bruce.

"I couldn't defend myself.  But there was someone there beside me, in my dream.  Holding my hand.  He defended me."  Clark's voice was warm.  "I couldn't hear his exact words, but I could hear what he meant under them."

"And what did he mean?"  Bruce's attempt at 'mildly curious' failed when his voice cracked just a little at the end.

He felt Clark's hand close around his, but couldn't bring himself to look at the other man.

He felt Clark's lips grazing his knuckles, Clark's tongue ever so lightly touching his fingers, velvet and silken heat.

"He meant that he...liked me, and I was okay," said Clark against Bruce's fingers.

Now Bruce did look down.  Clark's eyes were steady, serious.  Hopeful.  "He liked you and you were okay?" Bruce echoed incredulously.  "You..." he swallowed.  "You have a gift for understatement, Clark." 

He felt Clark smile against his hand, and then Clark's tongue was slipping between his fingers, more boldly now, leaving trails of fiery sensation in its wake.  Bruce tried to catch his breath, and then Clark slid Bruce's index finger into his mouth.  Damp heat, warm tongue caressing along his skin...Clark made a small, satisfied sound and Bruce's world seemed to be unravelling around the edges.  This time it was his knees that gave out, and he was down on the floor with Clark, pulling his hand away just long enough to replace it with his mouth and his tongue, tasting Clark's blood from his split lip, tasting Clark's smile.

Tasting joy.

When Clark raised his arms to put them around Bruce they both winced as two sets of broken ribs re-asserted their presence.  Clark laughed softly, lips still brushing Bruce's.  "I...I don't think I'll be doing anything too energetic right now, Bruce."

Bruce ran his hands gently through the other man's hair, sweat-soaked and filthy, somehow still soft.  "Do you think you can sleep?  You need more sleep.  Idiot," he added as an afterthought, and to see Clark smile again.

"I think I can, if you'll stay with me." 

Bruce nodded.  "I'll stay with you."  Clark caught his breath at whatever he saw in Bruce's face then, and Bruce nodded again.  "I'll stay with you, Clark."

They were still curled up next to each other, Clark's hand held to Bruce's face once more, when their communicators beeped simultaneously.  "Superman?  Batman?  Are you down there?"  John Stewart's voice.

Bruce sat up.  "Lantern, yes, this is Batman.  Superman and I are here, can you track us?"

Green Lantern's brisk, efficient voice was filled with frank relief.  "We've got you located.  We'll be there in about fifteen minutes to pick you up."  As Stewart spoke, Superman dragged himself painfully to a sitting position, leaning heavily on Batman's shoulder.

"You'll want to bring a stretcher, too," Batman said.

Hawkgirl's voice broke in.  "Are you injured?"

"We've both got some broken bones and Kal's been poisoned by one of the local fauna, but I think he's going to be--ah--" A hot tongue was tracing around the outside of Bruce's ear, lapping behind it, following its lines.  "I, uh, I think he's going to be...all right."

"I'm fine," said Clark firmly, and darted his tongue into Bruce's ear very briefly.  Batman stiffened and grunted slightly despite himself.

"Are you sure you're all right, Batman?"  Shayera sounded concerned.  "You sound a little--"

"--no major problems here," Bruce said emphatically, glaring at Superman, who grinned back unrepentantly.

Soon Hawkgirl and Green Lantern were knocking on their makeshift door, carrying two ends of a stretcher and bickering good-naturedly.  Hawkgirl gently lifted Superman onto the stretcher;  he made a soft sound of pain and went white, his eyes closed, and Bruce found himself holding on to his hand without quite knowing how he got there.  "I'm right here, Kal," he said to the pain-tensed face, and Clark smiled a little and slitted his eyes open to look at Bruce.

"I know.  Thank you."

Green Lantern was examining the door.  "Nice construction," he said appreciatively.  "I suppose having the Boy Scout around must have been helpful."

Batman's voice was level, cool.  "He was...useful."

Hawkgirl snorted.  "Don't knock yourself out with the compliments there, Dark Knight."

Clark felt Bruce's thumb stroke the back of his hand, ever so slightly.  He leaned back on the stretcher and smiled.


End file.
